Keep a Place for Me

PicMonkey Collage

I can only be here. I used to make jokes, and be “the funny girl” to fill the silence, but now the laughs are more genuine. What’s been given to us in the past, is a mere reminder that we’ve handled every card dealt to us before. I know sometimes we think, “I’ve been through the worst…what else could possibly happen?” but relationships between individuals often get lost because nobody wants to be the Fish at the table. A poker reference I often used in my writing before, when I was most indefinitely the fish. I kept getting bad hands, but was so confident in them, because I didn’t think lightning could strike twice. Now, it’s not about luck. I think timing plays a big factor in this, I say we’re running out of it, I’m asking for more minutes, more hours in a day than we’re given because what’s worse than being dealt a bad hand is, is to be holding a Royal Flush and nobody else seated at the table.

It’s rare for two people to treat something like this, like it’s art. I say all the right things here, but it isn’t enough sometimes. It’s 2016 and the lovers play their favourite game, where they say everything but what’s on their mind, and there’s never a winner. So how far will you wander? Will you look back to see if I followed behind. I promise to keep up with the pace. Sore legs are nothing against how sore my stomach gets from all that laughter.

Everywhere I go I hear the lyrics to She’s Electric by Oasis.
“Cause I’ll be you, and you’ll be me.
There’s lots and lots for us to see
There’s lots and lots for us to do
She is electric, can I be electric too?”

That tune is doing its best to keep me sane, but distance is inevitable regardless of how many times you reach over and clutch onto Egyptian cotton instead of their fingertips. Your friend tells you over coffee that she barely held it together in the airport check in, because there’s an entire body of water in between where she wants to be, and where she is, but she gives it a year, and she’ll stay hopeful until then. I hear the Oasis song again.

Of course Frank Ocean has to drop two albums during this period. Probably because he didn’t want me listening to Hey There Delilah 20 times over. That last part was a joke. Maybe. Still, how are we so selective to those we let in, but we do it so effortlessly when it happens. Who’s a lesson, and who’s the hand holder? “We just consistently bump into each other,” I say bumping my knuckles together. I’m choosing to be optimistic about this, and I’m not trying to jump trains. If anything I’m buying the ticket.

PS: Frank’s voice on Self Control is heartbreaking.


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